Stress Relief
by pleasejustletmegetridofthis
Summary: Inspired by a tumblr post about how holding hands and kissing reduces the stress hormone cortisol, upon which someone said it would be a reason Sherlock would kiss John. Now expanded into a series of kisses.
1. Cortisol

Sherlock was pacing frantically around to sofa, hands tugging at his hair, muttering words that sounded like gibberish, but seemed to make sense to him. We were in the middle of a case, one that had been particularly difficult for him to grasp, and for two days now he had been stuck, frantically trying to coerce his brain into working the way he needed. He'd tried to explain his situation to me as being like when one is trying to find the right word, and it is on the tip of their tongue but they can't quite get it. Nothing had helped thus far, and after going through literally dozens of nicotine patches, he had deemed them useless and it was only thanks to my refusing to let him out of the flat that he didn't try to obtain something stronger.

I sat in my chair and observed him, faintly worried that he would harm himself if he didn't figure out this problem soon. He stopped and turned towards me, and his face lit up for a moment and he walked over to me, and I truly thought he had finally figured out his problem. That was not the case. Needless to say I was extremely surprised when, instead of announcing a brilliant explanation, Sherlock leaned in, grabbed my face, and proceeded to kiss me quite thoroughly.

I was surprised by how soft his mouth was. A mouth that can spit words more deadly than venom shouldn't be that soft. I suppose I should have made some attempt at removing myself from his embrace, however sometimes when an event so strange occurs, one can only go along with it. And thus, I found myself encouraging the kiss, and soon my tongue was battling his. I could feel the tension in his shoulders release under my hand, one of which was on his left shoulder, the other on the back of his neck holding him in place. Not one moment after the noticeable drop in tension occurred did Sherlock pull away from me.

His hair was tousled even more than usual, and his cupid's bow mouth was red and swollen. There was a light in his eyes even brighter than just before the kiss, and he had a look of triumph on his face that would scare even the most frightening of enemies into submission.

"Come along, John," he said, voice even deeper than usual and tossed me his phone. "We have a murderer to catch. Text Lestrade for me."

"Sherlock," I started, "What was...?" my voice trailed off and I gestured towards my mouth.

"Oh, that. Kissing reduces the stress hormone cortisol. Less stress, easier to think. I've got it sorted out now. Hurry up. We've only half an hour before her flight." He slipped into his coat and rushed down the stairs, me following closely behind.


	2. La Grenouille

A/N: Hello, after an overwhelming positive response to Cortisol, I decided to continue this fic with a series of moments when Sherlock kisses John. presumably it will lead up to a relationship. Thanks to all of you who read, reviewed, favorited, etc!

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><p>They were at a bar. Some high end place, all dark wood and dim lights serving only the most expensive liquor. John felt slightly ridiculous in the pretentious three piece suit the elder Holmes brother had chosen to outfit him in, but he supposed he couldn't complain. He had certainly worn worse.<p>

"Relax." Mycroft murmured, barely audible even in the low hum of chatter in the bar. John focused on relaxing the tension in his shoulders, but between the presence of the man who ran the British government and the knowledge that somewhere in the bar was an assassin in town for the sole purpose of murdering one Sherlock Holmes, he found it quite difficult. How the other man managed to look completely at ease was beyond him.

Mycroft turned to look John directly in the eye. "If you cannot relax _soldier_, then perhaps you were the wrong man to bring here after all." John immediately let go of the tension in his shoulders, the implication of being the wrong man to protect Sherlock enough to force his body to obey. If nothing else about the man, John could say with certainty that Mycroft knew exactly how to make people do as needed.

And so they sat, the brother and flatmate of Sherlock Holmes, appearing for all the world to be relaxing over two glasses of extremely expensive scotch. Of course, the umbrella by Mycroft's side was armed with both a blade and poison, while John had not only his L9A1, but also two other guns Mycroft had supplied, as well as a knife of his own. The plan wasn't for them to fight, however the two were certainly prepared to do so. They were to meet with the assassin, commonly known as La Grenouille, escort her outside to "do business" where they would promptly get out of the way while Mycroft's men took care of her.

A flicker of long, deep brown curls caught John's eye from a table in the back corner of the room. He turned as if he were trying to obtain a better view of the bottle on back counter, and saw that the woman matched the description in Mycroft's dossier. Skin that would have been naturally tan had she not spent so much time hiding, deep brown eyes and curly hair, and a style that made her look like she should be in the Matrix.

"Just look at all that leather. Some people have no sense of style."

"How do you do that?" John whispered furiously. "You're looking in the opposite direction of her." Mycroft gave him a slight look of disdain and was about to open his mouth when suddenly an expression John never expected to see upon the elder Holmes brother's face appeared. Shock.

John spun around just in time to see Sherlock storm into the bar, his coat flying behind as a bouncer chased after him. He stalked straight up to Mycroft and slapped him hard across the face.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" he inquired with the most imperial tone John had ever heard in his life. It was a voice drill sergeants would fear. Sherlock now flipped his attention to John, who he roughly grabbed by the front of the extravagant suit and nearly lifted up into the most possessive kiss John had ever experienced. It was nothing like the first time Sherlock had kissed him in the flat. This kiss was brutal, all domination and putting him in his place. A kiss to show everyone in that bar _exactly_ to whom John belonged. And he found himself unable to keep up. John had always prided himself on being an excellent kisser, he wasn't nicknamed John "Three Continents" Watson for nothing, but this kiss was all Sherlock. And instead of trying to keep up and fight for his place as an equal, John let go and allowed Sherlock to dominate him. And when Sherlock pulled away, he was so dazed it took him a moment to register that the man was speaking to him.

"-mine. You hear that. You. Are. Mine. Don't you ever forget that."

How could he do that? Make his voice sound so threatening and yet at the same time as if he were purring. It shouldn't have been possible, and yet the result was something that had John experiencing a bit more of a reaction to his flatmate that he had ever planned on. John became aware that Sherlock was expecting him to respond, and nodded, hoping it was the right answer. It seemed to be good enough, as Sherlock had stopped speaking to him and was ordering Mycroft to leave the bar in rather unpleasant phrasing. The elder Holmes brother merely looked down his nose, snatched up the umbrella and strutted out of the bar, stating he would prefer to go somewhere he could drink in peace.

Sherlock now grabbed John's wrist and nearly dragged him out of the bar at a pace even faster than Sherlock's usual long-legged gait. He continued in this fashion for another two blocks before John put his military training to use and forced his arm out of his flatmate's grasp.

"What the bloody hell was that?"

"There was an assassin in there, John. Goes by the name of-"

"Yes. Yes I know. Your brother and I were there to stop her! And then you-"

"Listen, John!" Sherlock commanded, using the tone he had in the bar. "I know why you were there. Your laptop password isn't exactly difficult to figure out. And while I'm flattered that you joined my brother in an attempt to save me from an assassin who likely would have posed little threat, I thought both of you would appreciate remaining alive. Grenouille is a target herself, and that bar is rigged with a complicated explosive system. Mycroft's people are working on getting everyone out, but I wasn't willing to risk you. Not you, John"

With that, Sherlock turned and strode into the darkness, in the direction John assumed would lead them back to 221b.

"Sherlock, one question. You needed to get me out of a fancy bar, and you felt that kissing me while pretending I was cheating on you with your brother was the best course of action?"

"It worked, did it not?"


	3. Dancing

A/N This bit takes place about three weeks after the bar incident. And I just couldn't help myself with the Mystrade; it just sort of slipped its way in there.

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><p>I could just hear the strains of a violin as I came up the stairs. I thought nothing of it at first, until I realized the tone was completely off for it to have been Sherlock playing. I was about to drop the shopping and find out who was in our flat, when I heard the sound of an orchestra coming in to back up the lone violinist; a recording then. I walked through the door of the flat to see Sherlock lying on the couch in his usual position. He didn't respond to my greeting, and so I went through to the kitchen to put everything away.<p>

I had only just set down the bags when I heard Sherlock come in and begin hovering behind me. "Did you get what I asked?"

"Yes; I got the grapefruit for your... What were you using it for again?"

"Irrelevant. Need you in the other room."

"What for? Can't it wait until I've finished putting away the shopping?"

"No."

I followed him into the living room because with Sherlock anything deemed important could be "John, I need you to send a text" or "John, I need you to hold this wire while I dismantle a bomb." This appeared to lie somewhere in between the two. Sherlock had re-started the recording I'd heard earlier, and the violin solo was the only noise in the flat. Sherlock walked over to me and bowed.

"Sherlock, what are you-"

He cut me off, "Dancing. You need to learn how to dance, John. It is often useful during cases. Women in particular are much more likely to share information with someone they consider non-threatening, and in my experience, dancing always puts people at ease."

By now I knew when Sherlock wasn't going to let something go, and decided I might as well get this out of the way now. "Fine. You have a half hour, and then I'm going to finish putting away the shopping."

He appeared not to have heard anything but my agreement. "Listen to the music, John. Hear how the tempo has gone into three beats per measure? That is oftentimes a waltz. Follow my movements." He took my hands and put them into what I supposed was the proper position, and started moving his feet, pulling me with him. I looked down to watch his feet, and just ended up tripping myself.

"No, John. Not like that. You aren't listening! It's all there in the music."

"Sherlock, not all of us are skilled musicians. I'm clearly not hearing the same thing you are."

He gave a frustrated sigh and paused the music. "Here, like this. You need simply to make a box with your feet. Left foot to the front left corner. Then, right foot to the front right corner. Bring your left foot to follow it. Then do it backwards. Right foot to the back right corner. Left foot to the back left corner. Now bring the right foot to your left. One-two-three, one-two-three. Now repeat the whole thing."

After a few tries with Sherlock guiding me, I had managed to perform the maneuver to his satisfaction. "Now with music."

It felt much easier this time, but the tempo was faster than our previous pace, and I had to look down at my feet once again to try to keep up. Sherlock broke away from me and snapped "John, you cannot look at your feet while dancing. You'll never get it right. You must listen to the music and follow my lead. Look up!"

He restarted the music and stared me straight in the eye to ensure I couldn't look down. It's a bit unnerving, having Sherlock Holmes stare you down like that. But apparently I had once again made progress, because he murmured "Now we're going to move. Simply allow me to lead you."

Until then, we'd remained in a stationary box, but now he was putting pressure on my hands, guiding me where he wanted me to go. It was surprisingly not much more difficult than our original box, and soon we were moving around and around the room. I never once had to break eye contact.

"Do you hear it now, John? The music?"

I did. I could feel when I needed to step, and Sherlock's hands were guiding me where I should be. I had given up control, and was simply following his lead. I tried not to see it as a metaphor.

The music had now gone on to a new track, this one at a much faster pace than the last. Sherlock seemed entirely ready to continue, but quickly realized I was out of my league, and stopped for my benefit.

"Good. You've done better than I had expected. Of course, you won't be ready for this evening, but I knew it was more than I could hope for."

"This evening? Sherlock, what are you talking about?"

He honestly looked surprised. "Mycroft's annual ball. I was certain I'd mentioned it to you. It's my one concession to my family's requests. I attend the ball, and they leave me alone for the rest of the year. Of course, Mycroft never honors that agreement, but I can at least hold it over his head on occasion. I'm bringing you as my plus one. Might make the evening a bit less dull."

It was only then that I realized we were still in a dancing position. I took a step back and stuffed my hands in my pockets. "Sherlock, I have plans. Lestrade and I are going to the pub."

"But John, if I bring you Mycroft will leave me be for an entire month! He usually only lasts a week. Think of all that time without my brother interfering. I also rather expect our inspector to attend the ball as well."

"Why would Greg be at your brother's event?"

"The two have grown, close. I give them a month at most."

"A month for what, exactly?"

"Oh John, don't be dim. My brother has every intention of pursuing the inspector in a romantic fashion. It was obvious by the state of his tie last Wednesday."

"Of course it was." I turned to glance at the clock. "Sherlock! I said half an hour. It's been nearly three times that long."

"Has it? I hadn't noticed."

"I'm going to finish putting things away."

"Lestrade will cancel your plans within the next fourteen minutes, once Mycroft has used the opportunity of their lunch to convince him to attend the ball. Your suit shall be here in two hours and thirty-four minutes. You needn't bother to try it on in advance. Mycroft's assistant has a remarkably good eye for sizes. Probably comes from having to deal with Mycroft's fluctuating states of dieting."

"I'm not getting out of this, am I?"

"No."

"Fine. I'll go to your brother's bloody ball."


End file.
